


The Prague Pathfinder

by Dan_Francisco



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cold War, Amnesia, Drama, Gen, Lost Memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_Francisco/pseuds/Dan_Francisco
Summary: He doesn’t know who he is.He doesn’t know where he is.All he knows is that he knows the man standing across from him.But why does he know him?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Fanworks Club Monthly Prompts





	The Prague Pathfinder

**Author's Note:**

> Promptfill fic for the Fanworks Club discord's January monthly prompts. The prompt I chose was "Drama."

_Gabe. Gabriel Reyes._

That wasn’t his name – he knew that much. But the name he did know as his own – Jack – felt alien, foreign. He had awoken with a start, blinking in shock as he stared as rough, calloused hands that were covered in dirt, soot, and small flecks of stone, or maybe concrete.

_Rey-man. Asshole Supreme._

How did he know this name, these stupid nicknames? This didn’t make sense. He went to run one of his hands through his hair, but found it locked in manacles, strapped to the desk in front of him. Across from him, there was another man. This was… Gabriel Reyes? How did he know that? He didn’t remember knowing Gabriel, but he knew what felt like every detail about him. The way he had seen his dark skin millions of times. How the two of them had passed every training challenge, covered in mud and coming back for more. Exactly the way he liked his coffee. How in Vietnam, when Gabriel showed him how to make an Army mochaccino.

The man sitting across from him did not feel like Gabriel Reyes. He looked more like an imposter, a man who had taken Gabe’s skin and was wearing it like their old Class A uniforms. Alright, so clearly Jack knew who this guy was. So why the hell couldn’t he remember who _he_ was? Why did it feel like he had no identity, no known history, nothing more than a name that felt made up and hands that he couldn’t even believe belonged to him? Maybe more importantly, who the hell had locked them to a fucking table of all things?

Okay, calm down. Take a look around, slow down that breathing. Jack wasn’t sure how his mind told him to do that. He blinked again. The walls were, at some point at least, painted a flat beige. It had been peeling, probably not even touched since… maybe the 50’s? Who even knew at this point. The floors were concrete, the same bits and tiny chunks that dotted his hands. Dust everywhere. Chairs were metal, probably just tubular things built out of approximately whatever the fuck could be taken off the People’s Factory floor. There was a steel door with paint in equally poor shape as the walls, a simple sliding window blocking a view to the outside world. No other windows. Must have been some kind of interrogation room or something? The table felt cold – it too was metal. He looked down at himself, staring at a white shirt he wasn’t sure he owned and dirty blue jeans. No socks or shoes to speak of. Maybe it was a measure to stop him from running. The question of who had locked him in here still remained in his mind, and this concrete box wasn’t giving up any answers.

Jack looked back at the table. A disassembled M1911 pistol lay on it, with a single bullet perfectly placed in between the trigger guard and trigger itself. The firing pin had been taken out, as well as the slide. All someone needed to do was put it back together and slide the bullet in. One shot, one kill. He blinked, trying to figure out what the fuck this meant. Why put a disassembled gun in here, between them, and why only one bullet? This didn’t make much sense to him.

Across from him, Gabriel Reyes stirred. His shoulders heaved up and down as he groaned, stretching out his arms to take up the edges of the table. Jack _knew_ he had seen this face before. It was the same look that Gabriel had gotten at Khe Sanh. This was the Gabriel Reyes that he knew, the one that had taken some C4 from an engineer and lobbed it into a Viet Cong position. That day, he had seen how cruel Gabe could be.

“Reyes,” Jack hissed. He hoped that their captors – whoever they were – wouldn’t hear him. “ _Gabriel!_ ”

Gabe’s face twisted, an all-too-familiar scowl appearing. His eyes showed no hint of familiarity. “Who are you?” he growled. “Who’s Gabriel?”

Jack drew a sharp breath, biting his tongue lest he shout out and _definitely_ alert any potential guards. “Goddammit, it’s _me._ Come on, you know me! What’s my name?”

“I don’t know you,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “How do you know me?”

Jack furrowed his brow. This was some kind of joke, right? He looked around again – maybe he had missed a two-way mirror, where their captors were secretly watching them, judging them on whatever bizarre experiment this was. Nope, nothing. Still the same peeling paint on the same concrete walls. “It’s _me,_ you fucking idiot,” Jack shot back. “Come on! Leonard Wood, ‘63! You went to that bar in St. Robert and fought the mayor!”

The door slammed over. Jack immediately relaxed, acting like he had never been excited or animated just a second ago. He didn’t even think he’d know to do this on instinct. The man holding the door was done up in a Polish Army uniform – how did he know that? - while the other man that stepped in was clearly a civilian. He had a bald head, with a long, snow-white beard that went down to the top of his tie – four-in-hand knot, must have had unsteady hands – and small, round glasses that he constantly pushed up. His beady eyes must have been brown, or something equally dark, since he couldn’t discern eye color.

“Hm, good,” the man said in Romanian. When did Jack learn to speak Romanian? Nothing was making sense. “Final test, gentlemen. Whoever survives will continue their training.”

He manipulated a set of keys, unshackling Jack and Gabriel from their chains. The manacles dropped to the floor with a heavy clanking noise, giving Jack the freedom to move his arms. The civilian nodded to both of them, before heading out of the room. His Polish guard slammed the door shut behind him, a heavy click notifying Jack and Gabe that their fight to the death was to begin.

“Gabe, listen to me,” Jack said quietly, hoping Gabriel would listen this time.

Gabriel didn’t oblige him. He kicked his chair back, grabbing the slide off the table with his free hand. Jack cursed quietly under his breath, snatching up the frame, just in time for Gabriel to kick the table over and sending the firing pin flying.

Jack flipped the incomplete frame around in his hand, swinging at Gabriel with the pistol’s grip facing out, hoping to knock him off balance. However, Gabriel dodged the first swing and easily threw a quick jab at Jack’s torso, following up with an elbow to his chin. Reeling, Jack let go of the pistol. Gabriel swept him off his feet not too long after, scrambling to retrieve the firing pin. The sound of a weapon being reassembled overcame any ringing that might have been in Jack’s ears. He stifled a grunt of pain, getting to his feet just long enough to lunge at Gabriel and force him into the table, causing his reassembly procedure to be interrupted.

Another bareknuckle brawl. Gabriel threw a haymaker, which Jack blocked. He turned Gabe’s momentum against him, throwing him against the wall and kicking at the man’s back. “Remember, damn you!” Jack shouted. “Come on! We can get the fuck out of here!”

“I don’t know you!” Gabe yelled back, whipping around and charging Jack. The pair slammed into the opposite wall, sending a cascade of paint chips falling down on both of them. The bits of paint stuck in his own hair and in Gabriel’s, dusted their shoulders as they entered a brutal close-combat fight where no blow was off-limits. Jack chomped at Gabe’s arm. He kneed Jack in the crotch more than once. Both of them tossed desperate punches to the other’s stomach in an attempt to get one to yield.

Gabriel managed to throw Jack off of him, quite literally launching him into the table. Jack moaned, clutching his side as he stared up at Gabe. He had finished reassembling the pistol, racking back the slide and leveling it right at Jack’s face.

“Come on, Gabe,” Jack muttered, coughing up blood. “I know your birthday, your mom’s favorite song. Hell, I can tell you exactly what you said when we got to ‘Nam.”

“Gabe’s not here,” he replied, face stone-cold. “I’m _not_ him.”

Gabriel pulled the trigger, only for a dull _click_ to result from it. Confused, Gabriel turned the pistol towards him. No ammo. Jack laughed, digging the bullet out of his pocket and displaying it like a trophy. Predictably, Gabe lunged for it. Jack got up just as he hit the floor, knocking the pistol out of his enemy’s hand and seizing it for his own.

Quicker than Gabe could react, Jack pulled back the slide and inserted the cartridge, seating it correctly and letting it rock forward. Loaded. Jack ensured the safety was off, turning the table on Gabe, who was sat up against the wall, staring down the barrel.

“We’re trying this again,” Jack warned him. “Your name is Gabriel Reyes. We were in the Army together during ‘Nam, we went to Leonard Wood for Basic. You saved my life in Khe Sanh! I was the first guy you came to when it all went to shit! You have to remember, Gabe, because if you don’t, I’m pulling this trigger.”

Gabe stared back at him, no hint of anything on his face. His breathing was uneven, no doubt a result of their brawl not even a minute ago. Slowly, Gabe breathed in and out, closing his eyes the entire time. “I remember,” he finally said. “God-fucking-dammit Jack, I remember.”


End file.
